


Heedless

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:57:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris isn't having a good day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heedless

**Author's Note:**

> Another story written for the 2014 Advent Calendar over at [lifein1973](http://lifein1973.livejournal.com) on LJ.
> 
> I don't write about these three even kind of enough.

It's the worst Christmas ever. If his mum and dad get back from Malta and he's burned the house down, they're gonna kill him – well, if the fire hadn't killed him first. Either way he looks at it, Chris knows he'll end up dead.

Someone's knocking at the front door, and Chris can't take this: not the turkey that he's hopefully not burned or the fact his parents wanted to go on holiday instead of doing their traditional Christmas get together, or the fact that the sprouts went off and no one's open today, or the fact that the bloody knocking at the front door won't bloody stop!

'Bit busy here!' Chris cries out, puts the turkey and its pan onto the worktop. 'Come back later, it's a bad time!'

Had he not locked the door? Great, someone just walked inside, slammed it shut behind them. If he doesn't burn himself alive on Christmas day, he's going to end up murdered by a blagger instead! Great, just bloody great!

Real noisy for a burglar. Not even trying to hide that they're here – 

And Chris would be worried about this more, only the Yorkshire pudding didn't really work out and he feels like he's going to cry.

'See! Told you we needed to make sure he hadn't hurt himself!'

'Bloody hell! Your oven's on fire!'

Chris spins about, almost trips over his own feet. It's not a burglar, or even two of them. It's Ray and Phyllis and wait, _what_ , Phyllis said the oven was on fire – when did that happen?

'You... were having Christmas... with your bird, er, what's-her-name... Sarah?'

'Oh,' Ray shrugs. 'Sarah, right... said I should meet her parents, I got out of there while I still could.' Phyllis is rummaging about the fridge, pulls out the baking soda – what's that for?

'How exactly did you set the oven on fire?'

'Don't ask me. I was just trying to not burn the turkey. Um.' Phyllis is dousing the inside of the oven with baking powder, which seems to be doing the trick. 'What are you doing here?'

Phyllis stands up, pops her back as she does. 'Cause it's Christmas, you div. Ray was worried you might need some help, and I had nothing better to do.' That's peculiar: he knows she has kids, that she used to be married. That she's seeing that one bloke. Not that he does a whole lot of chit-chatting with her, but even Chris knows all that.

He wilts a bit. He'd wanted to manage this by himself, show himself and his parents. But... they're here now, and he respects them both... what next? If the Guv and the Boss come crashing into the house, Chris is going to cry. Well, he wouldn't mind it if Annie showed up, but even that wouldn't stop him from bawling like a kiddy.

'Hey.' That's Phyllis, her voice uncharacteristically soft, though still stern. 'Don't worry, alright?' She waves her hand across the mess he's made of the kitchen. 'You've got a good start here, but you need a bit of help. S'alright if you can't get it all done on your own, isn't that what mates are for?'

Chris blinks, nods. Phyllis grins. 'Right – Ray, pour some whisky down this boy's throat. I'll hold the fort down here.'

'Got it, Phyllis,' Ray smirks, grabbing Chris' arm and leading him to the kitchen, where Ray knows his parents' liquor cabinet resides. Yeah, this is a much better plan than going it alone, he's liking it already.

'Um... merry Christmas, I guess.'

Maybe it won't be that bad.


End file.
